What Is Left Behind
by Crimson Peaches
Summary: Harry knew that he'd won the war: but he still has to find out what he's lost. After the war, Harry's desire of becoming an auror continues, but is put on hold by the political and structural upheaval of the Ministry of Magic that he is forced into. With his career on hold, he starts the long journey to recovering from the war and finding out what is left behind afterwards.
1. Chapter 1

Harry looked down upon the white marble tomb, and, for the first time, he doubted whether he should be the one to do this. The sun hung high above him, and he knew that when he opened the tomb he wouldn't be able to avoid what lay inside.

He grimaced, and with a wave of the elder wand, opened Dumbledore's tomb.

Voldemort hadn't lied: he had taken it from Dumbledore's decaying remains. Once a powerful wizard – a great friend, now lay in his grave, rotting and withered.

Harry wanted to look away, but even if he had, he would still have been able to smell what lay inside. With a grimace, he leant in and gently closed Dumbledore's cold hands around his wand. His eyes were shut, Harry noticed.

With a shudder, he closed the tomb, wiping his hands down on his robe. He didn't cry: he'd seen Dumbledore only hours ago, even if it was inside his head. He knew that there was no reason to mourn the long deceased: there were recent tragedies for that.

 _Tragedies that were my fault._

He didn't bother arguing with himself: he knew that the others would do that for him. But he'd made up his mind, he knew that they died because he was too cowardly to face Voldemort earlier; too weak to finish it all sooner.

(*)

Most people had left the hall by the time he had returned. The bodies had been moved to respectable places: he knew that in the days to follow there would be a lot of funerals. He wondered where the funerals would be. At Hogwarts, he hoped. It was the least the school could do to honour those who had fallen in its name. And the people that remained would not have far to go. Even if they had nearly all left.

There were still a few though, and he wished that they weren't there, but he supposed that they had waited for him: to make sure he was alright. In a way, he appreciated it, but it made him feel as if he still had to crane his neck to look up to these people.

"Harry," Molly Weasley said, her voice hoarse and eyes wet. Her husband turned his head to look at Harry and he noticed that Arthur had been crying. Harry embraced Mrs Weasley, and her arms were tight around him. He didn't want to let go, but the longer they held one another, the longer the guilt grew inside of him. It was his fault Fred had died, his fault that they no longer had a son.

"Go to bed, Harry," Mr Weasley said, his eyes bruised and misty as he looked over his wife's shoulder. Mrs Weasley released Harry and smiled at him weakly. He nodded, and turned, walking from the hall. As he was ascending the stairs towards Gryffindor tower, he had to hop over missing steps, careful not to stumble lest he fall. The Fat Lady swung forwards without a word when she saw him, and he climbed inside.

At first, it looked like the common room had been left untouched: until he looked to the window, shattered, the shards of glass littered across the floor, the common room that had once been a centre for parties, seasonal festivities, and even angst-driven confrontations.

" _Reparo._ " Harry muttered. It was the first spell he had cast with his wand.

As soon as Harry reached his bed, he fell into a deep sleep, full of horror and nightmares he couldn't bear to face in his waking hours.

 **3** **rd** **May, 1998**

Harry awoke to find Ginny straddling him, smiling despite her bruises, cuts, and tired eyes. Harry blinked slowly, reaching up and rubbing his eyes before he stretched, reaching for his glasses on his bedside table and pulling them on. Able to distinguish Ginny more clearly now, he was reminded of just how beautiful she was once more, and the physical remnants of the battle only made her more so in Harry's eyes.

"Morning," Harry yawned, wincing as he came to the realization that every part of his body was aching.

"Morning," Ginny said as she leant forward and kissed him. Harry returned the kiss, moving his hands up to slide along her back and sides. It was the first time that they had kissed since Harry had left the Burrow, a time that seemed to have been years, rather than months ago. It reminded him of the times they had spent in his sixth year. It reminded him of being normal.

Harry wished the moment would never end, but it did: however, Ginny did not move to let him up.

"Listen, Harry – on your birthday I wasn't planning to be interrupted," she started before Harry cut her off.

"I know. You don't need to say. It annoyed me too." Harry tried to grin at her, but even he could tell it came off a bit weak: he was still sore. Ginny kissed him again anyway. He felt nervous, but his hand slid down her back anyway. Something felt wrong – felt off, though.

The door to the room burst open, and Ron swore loudly. They broke the kiss off, looking to the door just as Hermione pulled it shut: the sounds of her berating reached both Ginny and Harry. They looked at each other again, and he could see the frustration in Ginny's warm eyes. He could see the doubt in his reflection.

"Every time, they ruin the moment," Harry muttered to himself. Ginny sighed, and climbed off the bed.

"Come on, go get ready, I'll go wait downstairs with them."

(*)

Harry stumbled his way downstairs, swearing and cursing with each step. His legs felt worse even than they had the day after his first quidditch match. He'd gotten Fred and George to carry him down on that day, even though Wood had told them not to help, that it would make him stronger if they didn't. Fred and George never cared for rules, even Oliver's. He emerged into the common room smiling, and the three of them turned to stare at him oddly.

"What's gotten you so happy?" Ginny said, "You were cursing these two's names only a few minutes ago."

"Just a memory," Harry said, stopping himself before he mentioned Fred's name. Looking at Ginny and Ron, he was sobered, "What are we doing now?"

"Well, um," Hermione started, "we were planning on going down to the Great Hall. Have breakfast-"

"Breakfast?" Harry asked suddenly, glancing towards the perfect window. The sun was rising.

Ron snorted, "You've been asleep a long time, mate."

"Where did you sleep, anyway?" Harry asked, and Ginny smirked. Hermione blushed, and Ron looked away, "Nevermind, I don't want to know."

Ginny stood up, took Harry's hand - much to Ron's chagrin - and lead him down towards the great hall. Harry was glad for her hand: he would have run, otherwise, tried to escape the families who had been torn apart so early. There were a few tables set up, and even fewer people sat at them, but Harry could clearly see the group of redheads sat nearest the door.

"Harry, dear," Mrs Weasley said, a shaky smile upon her plump face. He didn't miss how her eyes flickered away from his momentarily, or how they fixed upon his and Ginny's entwined hand after: he didn't know what she was thinking and not for the first time in his life, Harry wished he were a legilimens.

"Uh, Kreacher?" Harry asked as he sat down between Ginny and Hermione. There was a loud crack, and Kreacher's crooked form appeared behind Harry.

"Yes, master?" Kreacher croaked: he had cuts on his head and one nasty welt in particular on the left of his face.

"If you wouldn't mind, Kreacher, could you cook me some breakfast?" Harry said, glancing at Hermione, "If you're able, that is." Hermione smiled at him.

Kreacher nodded. "Anything, for the young master." Harry looked away, and listened to what the rest of them were saying. He didn't particularly want to think about Kreacher, he could still remember their botched escape from the Ministry, and he felt guilty enough as it was.

"What's happening with the Ministry, Percy?" Hermione asked. Ron groaned, his eyes downcast to the table.

"Nobody has any idea, but Kingsley went back as soon as the fight was finished. He's going to try to put it in order, I believe," Percy said wearily, fiddling with his glasses as he spoke. Harry didn't find himself all that surprised: Kingsley had always had a talent for diffusing situations. As he thought back, Harry even recalled that he had guarded the Prime Minister, and thought it fitting.

"Oh. Well that's going to help, I bet."

It felt strange, listening to the mundane conversation around the table: despite the loss they had suffered, the world still turned, it still went on. Despite his defeat of Voldemort, life didn't stop.

Despite his death, he still lived.

He was grateful when Kreacher arrived bearing breakfast – not just for himself – but for everyone. It gave him something to busy himself with, so that he couldn't be lost in thought.

"You know, I've grown very fond of that elf," Ron muttered after he had finished his second helping. Hermione beamed, and Ginny rolled her eyes.

"I think you'd be fond of anything that fed you. When are we heading back to the burrow?"

"As soon as everyone's ready, dear," Mrs Weasley told her daughter.

"I'm ready," Harry said quietly. Everyone looked up: mixed expressions of concern, pride, and confusion upon their faces. _I should have paid more attention with Snape_ , Harry thought (again, not for the first time). A brief, random thought flitted through his mind: would he need to learn legilimency as an Auror?

It wasn't long afterwards that they all left for the Burrow.

(*)

"Home," Mrs Weasley said as she brusquely strode into the house. The family followed: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Percy, even Bill, Charlie and Fleur. Last, was George, guided by his father's hand upon his back. Harry took care not to stare too much. He couldn't understand how it felt for George, he and Fred were closer than life, and what's worse was that his reflection, the same as his brother's was on every glass surface in the house.

"So, ah, Harry, I'll set up the bed in Ron's room and you can-"

"Uh, mum," Ginny interrupted, "I was thinking that Ron could stay in my room? Hermione can stay with Ron," she added on. Mrs Weasley blinked rapidly, as still as a statue for a moment. Her eyes glanced to Harry and his hand, then back to Ginny.

"Ah, well, I suppose they can, dear, Harry, if that's alright with you?" she asked weakly.

"Oh!" Harry said, still staring at Ginny, "yeah, that'd be fine with me."

"And you, Hermione?" Mrs Weasley asked, almost desperately, turning towards her.

"Yes, I think that's fine." Hermione smiled guiltily towards Mrs Weasley who merely nodded.

"Well, oh, I'll sort that out then, and-"

"Could they be double beds, mum?" Ginny asked, turning her head away from her mother. Mrs Weasley nodded, and headed off without another word, but Harry didn't miss her backwards glance over her shoulder. Harry's cheeks felt so hot that he was certain he could cook an egg on them: and Ron's ears looked redder than the Gryffindor colours.

"So, uh, you two are…?" Harry asked, coughing into a fist as he glanced quickly up at them and then back down.

"Ahem, well," Hermione started as Ron's eyes bored holes into the floor, "we- well, yes."

"Right." Harry didn't know what else to say, and the room fell silent.

Once Mrs Weasley had returned, she told them that dinner would be ready in a couple of hours, and Harry was left wondering what to do. In the past, he had always either hid away with Ron, played quidditch with the Weasley twins – his gut churned – or helped Mrs Weasley out in the kitchen, cutting vegetables and peeling potatoes.

"Is there anything I can do, Mrs Weasley?"

"No dear: just go and get some rest." She said as she busied herself with cooking their dinner.

Harry frowned, and watched as Ginny headed out into the garden with Hermione while Ron went and sat down with George and Mr Weasley. He stood there, uncertain of who to go to; on one hand, he wanted to comfort the three of them, but he couldn't rid himself of the fear that they blamed him. With a long, drawn out sigh, he turned around and headed outside into the garden to follow Ginny and Hermione.

(*)

"Does it hurt much, Ginny?" Hermione asked, gingerly touching one of the bruises on the side of Ginny's face as Harry sat down beside his girlfriend, moving a hand and holding her with one arm.

"Ouch."

"Hm, maybe if I get you some ointment, it'll help you heal," Hermione said, her hand stroking her chin. "Maybe Murtlap essence?"

"Didn't you use that on my hand?" Harry asked as he sat down next to Ginny, "Because that did help."

Hermione nodded, "It's quite simple to make, and besides, I think that Fred and- oh." Hermione stopped herself, and Ginny's eyes watered. "It feels wrong, to just… say one."

Harry clenched his jaw.

"I know," Ginny said, "it just feels wrong." Her face was hidden by flaming red hair, head dipped. It discomforted Harry to be unable to see her face, for her not to hold her usual tough persona up. He had only seen – _heard_ – her crying once before, and even that was only a suspicion. Harry put an arm around her waist and she leant her head onto his shoulder.

"Should we go inside?" Hermione asked. Harry shook his head, and looked around: the parallel benches they were sat on gave them a great view of the Weasley's garden, complete with a gnome peeking out of a nearby bush. Harry was reminded of when he and the Weasley family had thrown them over the fence.

"I don't want to be inside. I just feel, useless," Harry said, looking away from Hermione for a moment afterwards. Looking back towards Hermione, he saw her face: she looked sad, and concerned. For a brief moment, Harry wondered why; and he cursed internally as he realized what was coming. _They always do this,_ he thought.

"It's not your fault Harry," she said and Ginny sat upright, turning towards him.

"You say that but-"

Ginny cut over him, "Harry, it isn't. None of it is."

Harry shook his head: they didn't understand, "You don't get it. You don't know what happened."

"What happened, then, Harry?" Ginny started, defiant, "Everyone saw you, held – held-" Ginny's voice broke, and she hugged him: even Hermione's eyes had turned watery. "We saw you, in Hagrid's arms, Harry," she whispered. "You couldn't have known that you'd survive his killing curse again- what, Harry?" she asked as his face turned stony. _They are so wrong_ , he thought; he hadn't survived, that was what made it hard.

"I'll- I'm not ready to say it, just yet, Ginny," he said, suddenly feeling as if the weight of the sky above was pressing down on his shoulders. It was strange, he wanted to scream and shout, to roar and tear his own heart out. However, when he was given the chance he shied away. It felt unusual, and it only incensed Harry more. "I don't-"

Her face hardened, "Then you'd best get ready. You did nothing wrong, Harry."

Harry said nothing more, but his arm tightened around Ginny's waist and she returned to resting her head on his shoulder. Hermione sighed slightly, looking at them both. "Harry, you know, we really need to see about getting that hair cut now we're back," she said, fiddling with her wand idly.

"Yeah. I'll ask Mrs Weasley to do it tomorrow," he said. He felt cathartic, drained.

(*)

They ate the dinner in relative silence, and it made Harry's throat feel tight. Never before had a dinner at the Burrow been like this. He took the opportunity to look at the clock on the wall, and studied it's hands. They were all at home, apart from Fred, who was travelling. A chill went down Harry's spine, and his throat felt as if it were being squeezed, trapped staring at Fred's face on the clock. He was glad when Mr Weasley broke the silence and Harry was able to tear his gaze away.

"Ah, Harry, have you thought yet about what you're going to do now?"

"Um, what do you mean, Mr Weasley?"

"Well, I was thinking – and do correct me if I'm wrong – that you wanted to become an auror," Arthur took a sip from his glass, "Is that still your ambition?"

Harry paused: it was a good question. What did he want to do? He still wanted to become an auror, but he had just spent a year of his life hunting down horcruxes. He had just been involved in, no, been the centrepiece of one of the greatest battles in magical history. "I think it'd be nice to take a short break first," Harry said.

Ron looked at him, and nodded, mouthful of food. "We deserve a break," he said after swallowing. "Besides, we're famous enough now we'll never have to work again, eh?"

"George, what are you going to do about the shop?" Ginny asked quietly, and George looked up for the first time in the meal: his eyes were bright red, and his face was bruised and cut more than anyone else. He shrugged, and looked down again. Harry wanted to say something, but, as he frequently found nowadays, his throat was too dry.

"I don't know." George's voice was weak, uncertain, and shook with each syllable.

Ron spoke up first, "I could help out, you know? With the shop."

"You don't have to, it's alright-"

"No, I'll help out, mate," Ron interrupted his brother. George didn't say anything for a long moment.

"Thanks," he muttered, finally.

Ron didn't say anything, and just returned to stuffing his face. The dinner was quiet again after that, Harry noted, and he realized that the Weasleys too were recovering. He wondered how long it'd take them to recover – if they would recover. Harry pushed his plate forwards, "Thank you, Mrs Weasley: I'm full. I'll head to bed, if that's alright?"

Mrs Weasley nodded, and Ginny stood up with him, "I'll show you the way, Harry," she said, leading him by his hand. Her room was on the first floor, and Harry was acutely aware of the fact that there were several sets of eyes on him as he was lead into her room. When they entered, Harry shut the door behind them: her room had not changed much, it was still littered with posters of the Weird Sisters and Ginny's favourite team, the Hollyhead Harpies. Where Ginny's bed once was, was what appeared to be a new double bed (although Harry suspected Mrs Weasley just cast a few charms on her original bed).

"So, we can get Hermione to get your stuff out of her bag and put in here," Ginny commented idly as she sat on the end of the bed looking at Harry, who felt almost perturbed by her gaze.

"Yeah, uh, do you think George will be alright?" Harry asked, and Ginny stiffened for a moment before relaxing again.

"I'm not sure. It'll help having Ron with him at the shop though."

Harry nodded: his mouth was dry, and he didn't know what he should do next. Ginny slowly slipped out of her top in front of him, and Harry's breath caught in his throat. Her skin was light, almost pale, and freckled, and her body was lithe and feminine. She was beautiful.

"Harry…" she said, looking at him, and Harry struggled to tear his eyes away to her face.

"Ginny – I'm – can we wait a little longer? It's not you, I just feel…"

Ginny nodded, "It's fine. I understand – but don't you wait too long on me."

"I won't," Harry promised.


	2. Chapter 2

**4** **th** **May 1998**

When Harry awoke, the first thing he noticed was that his right arm had pins and needles, and as he looked over, he knew why: Ginny rested on it, her own arm draped over his chest, and her other hand tucked underneath the pillow. He had always pictured waking up with Ginny to be something romantic and serene, but instead, Ginny was snoring into her pillow, red hair a mess around her face. Harry had to resist the temptation to laugh.

Sliding his arm out from under Ginny carefully, he sat up, and glanced over at the clock. It was half past eleven, and Harry knew that Mrs Weasley would be busy with dinner in another hour or so, so if he wanted any breakfast, he'd best hurry up.

"Ginny," he said, shaking her gently. She stirred, and began to come around as her eyes started to flicker open. Harry got up, and moved over to the window where he opened it just a crack: shivering as the fresh, cold morning air blew against his skin. Ginny sat up when he looked back towards her. She was wearing only her underwear, and Harry watched her for a few moments longer before looking back out over the window and over the orchard.

"Harry, what's the time?" Ginny asked just before she yawned.

"Half eleven."

"If we want some breakfast, we'd better get a move on. I'll get in the shower first: you're free to join me," she said, a teasing tone in her voice as she spoke. Harry just smiled and shook his head. He had slept well: well enough that he felt uncomfortable about it. It felt almost disingenuous to have been happy, to be happy.

He turned, and waited for Ginny to come back in, errantly looking around at the room. The posters on the walls were fraying slightly, the dresser gouged around the sides; there was even a crack in one of the walls that resembled a spider web.

The door burst open, and Ginny walked in with a large, fluffy towel wrapped around herself. Her hair hung down her back, dripping wet, a deep, rich red in colour. She smiled at Harry, who gestured towards the crack in the wall.

"What caused that?"

Ginny paused and squinted at the wall, "Uh, I think I did that a bit before I went back to school."

"Remind me not to make you mad."

"Well, in that case, you'd best hurry up and get ready because we'll miss breakfast if we linger about up here."

Harry grinned, and ran for the bathroom, hoping to make it there before anyone else managed to get in.

(*)

Harry, Ginny, and Ron sat out in the orchard with their brooms at their sides. They had asked George to come out but, as Harry had thought he would, he declined. George looked even worse now than he had before, and it was starting to worry everyone. _If I have it bad_ , Harry thought, _Then I can't begin to imagine what George is going through_. He wondered if George would recover.

"It was nice to play again," Ginny said, "none of us have played all year."

"Good to get our mind off things," Harry agreed.

Ron grunted. He had a particularly nasty welt rising on the side of his head from when Ginny threw the quaffle a little haphazardly. Harry grinned: it reminded him of when Mclaggen had hit him, and he woke up beside Ron in the hospital wing. He also remembered how Hermione and Ron had been at each other's throats that year; in hindsight, Harry realized it had been the underpinning romantic tension between the two.

"I wish George had come to play though," Ginny said as she glanced backwards over her shoulder towards the Burrow.

"I would've too," Ron muttered, "he needs to stop, y'know-"

"Mourning, yeah," Harry finished for Ron who nodded grimly.

"I'm going to go inside. I'll tell Hermione you two are out here if you- wait, what's McGonagall doing here?" Ron's eyes tracked their former teacher strode towards the three of them. She was dressed in her emerald green garb which was unusually clean considering it had been worn in battle only two days ago.

"Harry: just the person I need to speak too. Is Hermione with you, by any chance?" McGonagall's eyes scanned the orchard as if she suspected Hermione to appear from behind a tree. Harry noticed as she did this, that she had a nasty scar on her neck, visible even in the cool shade of the orchard. However, it soon vanished as she turned her head back towards them, eyes glimmering for just a brief moment. "I suppose not. Can I come inside, then?"

"Of course, Professor," Harry said, standing up and offering Ginny his hand who pulled herself to her feet and followed Harry, Ron and Professor McGonagall inside. The inside of the Burrow was slightly stuffy, filled with the mouth-watering aroma of roasted potatoes, chicken, stuffing and fried sausages. Molly had her back to the door as she busied herself with the mashed potato and cranberry sauce.

"Molly."

Mrs Weasley turned around, and Professor McGonagall took off her black, pointed hat. "Minerva! What's brought you here?"

"Well, I needed to see-" Professor McGonagall started before being interrupted by a very surprised and flustered Hermione appearing at the foot of the stairs, "Miss Granger," she finished. "I'd also like to see Mr Potter, if that is alright with the both of them?"

"It'll be fine, professor!" Hermione said, "Uh, Mrs Weasley-"

"You can use the living room," she said, waving a hand. Hermione led Professor McGonagall into the living room.

"Uh, Professor, feel free to take a seat." Harry followed just as Hermione sat down after McGonagall, also taking a seat at Hermione's bequest.

"Thank you, Miss Granger. I believe it would be quite appropriate to wait for Kingsley, he mentioned that he may be late."

"Kingsley?" Harry blurted out, "Why's Kingsley coming here?"

"I will let him explain that for himself, Mr Pot-"

"Professor, we're not your students anymore, there's no need to call us by our last names," interrupted Harry.

McGonagall's lips formed a thin smile, "I will stop addressing you properly the day you decide not to call me professor."

Harry grimaced.

There was a knock at the door, and Harry turned his head, but there was no need: the low voice that rumbled behind him identified the speaker instantly. "Hello Molly, may I come in?"

"Of course, Kingsley: go right on through."

"Thank you." Kingsley's presence was impossible to ignore; he was stood at over six feet tall, powerfully built, and carried an aura about him that reminded Harry of Dumbledore. The sight of him sat down on the Weasley's patchy sofa was strange. "Harry, Hermione, Minerva," Kingsley addressed them all, adjusting the gold loop than hung from his ear before pulling out his wand and giving it a wave.

"What are these?" asked Hermione in confusion as she picked up the papers that Kingsley had summoned. Harry leant over, but found himself quickly confused by what was on the papers: they did not read like anything he had studied at Hogwarts or seen in a bookshop. Hermione read the title aloud as she picked up another piece of parchment. "The May Accords?"

"This, Hermione, is what I have been working on through the night," Kingsley answered. Harry, for the first time, noticed the weariness that was present in his voice, how his clothes, usually kept neat, were creased. "Legal documents to remove multiple members of the Ministry from power, and a restructuring of the various departments; I called it the May Accords."

"What does this have to do with us? Do you want our help?" Harry asked whilst he ran a hand through his hair.

"Quite the opposite, actually, Mr Potter." McGonagall answered.

"Harry," Kingsley began, "I know you want to become an auror, but with all this going on it would raise far too many questions if you were to suddenly gain a position within the Ministry, and make the Accords seem like they are a coup rather than a restructuring. None of the Order will be joining the Ministry for this reason. And that includes you, Miss Granger: I know you wanted a position after Hogwarts."

A year ago, Harry would have been furious. He'd have shouted, he'd have broken something: after all that he'd done, they couldn't even let him get the job he wanted? But, no, now he only felt a sense of relief. He wouldn't have to go on as he had for the last few months: he wouldn't have to dabble in the politics of the ministry straight away. "Fine, that's fine."

Hermione nodded, "I understand why. It's for the best, right?"

"It is." McGonagall confirmed, "however, despite this, I wanted to offer you both an opportunity. As the new headmistress of Hogwarts, I found myself lacking in two positions. Mr Potter, and Miss Granger, how would you feel about teaching at Hogwarts for a year?"

Harry blinked. "Uh – what?"

"I am offering you the position of Defense against the Dark Arts, Mr Potter. I, and the other staff, thought it would be a good idea considering your, ahem, past experience." McGonagall smiled faintly at this, looking down her glasses at him: it made Harry feel like a boy again.

"Uh, and-"

"We would want you for Muggle Studies, Miss Granger. Again, this is only for a year – unless you decide to pursue education full time, something that I doubt either of you two would be satisfied with."

"But neither of us have ever taught before," Harry protested: but Hermione was shaking her head.

"Yes you have, Harry. Remember, Dumbledore's Army?"

"Precisely, Miss Granger – and, stop me if I'm wrong, but, didn't those who attended Mr Potter's lessons come out with higher grades relative to their peers who did not attend that year?" McGonagall asked, but everyone, including the severe witch, knew the answer to that question. He was more than qualified.

"I never took the last year, how could I teach them?" Harry asked.

"Well. If you were to take the job, I am sure that other teachers would be able to assist you with that material. You were an outstanding student however – at least in that subject – and I imagine you could learn most of the seventh year before the term started."

Harry did not really have any excuses left, and judging by Kingsley's smile, they knew it as well. Yet, he was not sure if he even wanted to take the job; Harry could have taken the year to relax, gather his thoughts. _But, Ginny would not be there with me._ That fact alone made all the difference to him: he needed her, now more than ever. He gazed at the table examining the rings stained onto the wood by mugs and glasses of tea and juice. It reminded him of the summers spent with Ron, Ginny and the twins.

"Professor, what is the pay like? And would this allow us to fast-track into a better position within the ministry?" Hermione asked, looking from McGonagall to Kingsley with a familiar light in her eye. Hermione wanted to do this, and, in her typical fashion, she was already making plans. In the past that would have inspired Harry and Ron with dread, but now Harry found it rather comforting. It meant that someone at least knew what they were doing - and if it was going to be anyone, Harry would want it to be Hermione.

"We can discuss pay later, Miss Granger, but you can be confident that it will be satisfactory, and as for the ministry-"

"As for the ministry," Kingsley took over, interrupting McGonagall, "any experience from a prestigious institution such as Hogwarts would be highly valuable. It shows a certain pedigree of character."

Harry stared at both McGonagall and Kingsley wide-eyed. He had never seen someone interrupt McGonagall and get away with it – let alone with such nonchalance. It was no wonder that Kingsley held such respect, he thought. Kingsley did not seem aware of just how surprised Harry was, or if so, he did not let it show as he spoke.

"Harry. I think what Minerva is proposing is the best opportunity you will get. Your experience with the war will not guarantee you a position with the aurors."

"Oh. I guess defeating dark lords is just something the others go off and do for work experience, is it?" Harry replied, exasperated.

"I never said it would not matter, only that it would not get you the job alone," Kingsley responded calmly. "You need to realize that there are many who believe, even so soon, that you got lucky, that he had already lost. They do not know what you did and went through: truthfully, even the order does not fully understand quite yet."

Harry sighed. "Fine."

McGonagall looked at him down through her glasses expectantly. "And what does that mean, Mr Potter?"

"I'll do it." Harry muttered. Hermione beamed at him.

(*)

"Do you realize what this means, Harry?" Ginny asked, seriously, "We'll be able to spend our last year of Hogwarts together. We won't have to be separated for a year."

"Pretty sure that teacher-student relationships are frowned upon at Hogwarts," Ron muttered. He had not taken the news half as well as Ginny had: and it was because whilst their new jobs meant Ginny could be with Harry, it was the opposite for Ron and Hermione: for the first time since the trio were eleven, they were not going to be at Hogwarts together.

"I think they'll make an exception." Ginny's tone was blunt; it was clear to Harry – and anyone who knew Ginny – that she didn't care if they didn't. Harry smiled, the way she spoke about it did make his skin prickle with excitement, and satisfy a quiet discomfort that lingered within his stomach. Ron's expression did not change as he elected to give only a simple shrug.

"I'll have a lot of catching up to do," Harry murmured thoughtfully as his thumb drew a circle onto his chin repeatedly.

"You only missed one year," Ginny pointed out.

"And you were ahead of the class, mate. Remember, you taught F- Fred and George in your fifth year." Ron's voice dampened as he spoke of his lost brother, his tone mellowing even further.

"Yeah, but there's a lot of difference between me and, say-… say Lupin." Harry winced. The air went still as quiet reigned, and Harry bit down his tongue: he knew they wouldn't like what he had to say. They still didn't understand; they had died because of him. Every one of his father's friends had died because of him. Their brothers scarred, and one lost.

"I don't think there's as much as you think, Harry," Ginny said quietly, "you might not know as many spells as him, sure. But you've been through more than anyone else. The rest is all there."

Harry shrugged.

(*)

Harry returned from an evening walk with Mr Weasley. They hadn't talked much: and what talk there was, remained mundane. Despite that, though, Harry felt calmer for it, the presence of a friend and father-figure. When Harry had stayed over in the summer, he and Ron used to spend time with Mr Weasley in the shed, taking apart old muggle toys.

"Harry dear, there's a letter for you," Mrs Weasley called from the kitchen.

"Who's it from?"

"Hogwarts," answered Hermione's voice.

"Wait, already?"

"I think you seriously underestimate how desperately they are trying to get everything back together. There's what, four months until the new school year starts again?"

"I suppose," Harry murmured to himself as he opened the letter.

* * *

 _Dear Mr. Potter_

 _We at Hogwarts are delighted to accept your application for the position of Defense against the Dark Arts Teacher. The establishment is understanding in that you will need some formal training in various topics that will be provided to you on a regular basis over the next four months. The training shall be provided by our other formal educators:_

 _Filius Flitwick (Duelling Practices)_

 _Horace Slughorn (Dark Arts)_

 _Minerva McGonagall (Defensive Theory)_

 _The lecturers will rotate with each session, and teach a variety of subject matter that intends to bring you up to speed on all manners of Defense against, and, the Dark Arts themselves. You will also be provided with access to the Hogwarts Library whenever desired, including full access to the restricted section and any books the Headmistress deems appropriate to lend out. This is to supplement your practical lectures, seminars and workshops with study and reading so that you are privy to the full academic breadth of the subject possible._

 _In addition to this, you will be further trained over the course of the school year on a regular basis in the evenings (any detentions given to students that occupy this timeslot shall be handled by another member of establishment). This will equal to an estimated full twelve months of training for eight months work as per your contract (signed off by interim Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt and Headmistress Minerva McGonagall on basis of special situation). This training will finish at the end of your employment, and will allow fast-tracking into the Auror Training Programme without need for application or portfolio._

 _As an educator at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you shall be expected to handle lesson plans, module plans, teaching (with exception for illness/approved reason for absence) and subject resource management (as per budget to be discussed at later date). You are also expected to run and maintain at least one club for leisure or sport to allow extra-curricular opportunity for students. You shall be allowed to allocate and subtract house points._

 _You will be provided with room and board whilst employed at Hogwarts, including during the four-month period prior to term. Pay is standardized at 5 galleons-per-hour, which includes all lessons and time spent running clubs/attending to student needs._

 _Hogwarts,_

 _Signed, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall_

* * *

Harry looked up, frowning. Mr Weasley peered over at him from the living room, the newspaper stretched out within his hands.

"Trouble, Harry?"

"Not really, Mr Weasley. I've got to have lessons once a week again."

"Me too," breathed Hermione, who was a vivid red: it looked as if she hadn't breathed the entire time.

"Ah, well, you two are both very inexperienced."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. I'm going to go to bed, it's been a pretty long day."

"Can I read-"  
"Yeah, you can read mine, Hermione," Harry answered as he started to move up the stairs towards Ginny's bedroom. His feet dragged, shoulders sagged: the whole idea of extra lessons reminded him of his final year at Hogwarts, and of when he learned occlumency from Snape. Gruelling lessons, where Snape seemed to aim to punish more than teach. Would it be more of the same? Harry dreaded what was to come.

"Harry?" Ginny asked quietly, looking up from her book – an old book on quidditch tactics, something that Harry had never delved into too much, as he felt he had the equivalent of a full subject education on it from Wood's famous talks. Ginny was very different: this book was worn, pages marked from where she had folded the corners hundreds of times over, the spine faded until it was almost impossible to read.

"Hey."

"What's up?" Ginny asked, placing the book down, pages splayed out although it lacked the resistance to stay up in the air, instead falling flat upon it's face as if it were an old man attempting a push up.

"Nothing, not really anyway."

"Bollocks. What is it?"

Harry sighed.

"Fine. If you don't want to tell me, that's okay. Just don't act all mopey about it if you don't."

Harry winced, "It's really stupid, Ginny."

"Mhm?"

Harry smiled feebly, she wasn't giving up. "I'm going to get lessons again, from basically all the heads of houses but Sprout."

"Why's that so bad?"  
"Well… I dunno, it just reminds me of Snape."  
"What do you mean?" Ginny flicked a strand of brilliant red hair over her ear.

"Occlumency lessons with him. It was more like he wanted to torture me than teach me."  
"Oh. I doubt it'll be like that, I mean, come on, can you imagine Flitwick being anything like Snape?"  
Harry imagined the short man, half-goblin and surrounded by curly white hair, and a beard that reached just past his neck. Always sat atop a pile of books in order to teach the class, his were always the most fun lessons, filled with joyous little anecdotes on the best charms to hide a mess.

Then there was the duelling champion that they rarely saw shine through, it was a very well known part of the tiny teacher's past, that he had been a terror on the duelling circuit, well known as a master duellist. Harry wondered if he'd see that side in the lessons. "I mean, I suppose."

"C'mon. And Slughorn? He'd never be hard on you, he'll probably get distracted and try to get you to hold student parties with him. You don't have to worry about anything, Harry." Ginny offered a smile at him, moving the duvet away from his side of the bed: a warm, and tempting invitation that Harry accepted, kicking off his shoes and pulling his belt free before lying next to Ginny.

"Yeah, you're right."

"Always am."

Harry elbowed her playfully before he began to pull off his shirt and wriggle free of his jeans. Scars still littered his body from the battle: grazes, bruises and cuts. Some were already beginning to heal, others never would. Harry was left to wonder which they were.


End file.
